This is one of the funniest YouTubes I've ever seen...a note by note smackdown of vocal range between the fabulous Minnie Riperton and the shortbus hooker Mariah Carey. If you've ever wondered what on earth possessed Mariah to start whistling for dogs in her head voice, then you're probably not familiar with Riperton who got there first (and got there better, in the opinion of many). Though we lost Minnie way too soon--she died of cancer, at just 31 years old, in 1979--Mariah's carried the dog-whistle-as-vocal torch quite ably; I imagine she's shattered a glass or two along the way (surely she's ruptured a sinus?)
I'll admit this video is way too long if you don't find it funny, but it's truly a note-by-note match-up. Try to ignore the poorly selected text fonts (the video creator used an ALL CAPS font which means that "E flat" renders, stupidly as "EB") and you might want to have earplugs at the ready. As for me, I'm going to see about snapping up all the Riperton gaps in my collection!
I know the horse is dead and I should just stop beating it, but I need to gloat: despite a massive Clive Davis-fueled campaign, Whitney Houston's (super-crap) album I LOOK TO YOU was shut out of the Grammy nominations. That's a (well-deserved) snub of someone who has been nominated for Grammys 24 times in the past 3 decades (she's won 6 of them, as well as a startling 23 American Music Awards). Since I've already had my say about how crazy it makes me for people to pretend Miss Houston can still sing well enough to justify her gazillion dollar record deals (she can't) I'm gonna just stop now. Thud.
Did I post this already? Don't think so...have loved it for the last several months:
It's less a true mashup (which mixes multiple tunes) than cutting something musically apart and reconstructing it. Whatever it is, I think it is quite brilliant!
The breathless raves that have greeted Whitney Houston's first album in six years have really gotten under my skin and I've spent a few days trying to sort out why this is so. At heart, I think the massive lovefest greeting this release reveals the cynical (i.e. solely profit-driven) nature of the American music business these last many decades. Whitney, Britney, and Mariah are nothing more than corporate brands; that none of them can "sing" in a way that I define that word, means nothing more than I'm a lonely audiophile curmudgeon shaking my fists at their lavish success to no avail.
Truly, though, there seems to me something profoundly wrong with an industry that celebrates a performer who spent the last decade destroying her voice (likely through drug abuse) and making a public ass of herself (doodie bubbles, anyone?). No amount of slobbering press can change the effect of listening to Whitney's album: that is to feel that what's left of her once-powerhouse (and justly celebrated) voice is auto-tuned throughout the entire album. How this is supposed to sound different than an insipid, sing-along Karaoke disc is utterly beyond me.
A quick lesson on auto-tune, for those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about. As defined by Wikipedia: Auto-Tune is a proprietary audio processor...that uses a phase vocoder to correct pitch in vocal and instrumental performances. It is used to disguise inaccuracies and mistakes, and has allowed many artists to produce more precisely tuned recordings. The term "autotune" [also refers] to pitch correction technologies...being used to subtly change pitch, with some settings it can be used as an effect to deliberately distort the human voice.
The most familiar--and one of the most exaggerated--examples of AutoTune (or vocoder) usage in pop music occurs in Cher's "Believe" (1998). In the video below, the first blatant use of AutoTune comes at the 0:36 mark with the lyrics "...can't break through" :
If you think it sounds like Cher is singing through a tin can from the moment she opens her mouth, you're not crazy, but that's not necessarily AutoTune usage; it could just be a producer's effect choice. I initially loathed "Believe" and was really jarred by the AutoTune-d verses, but I'm a rigid, change-resistant Leo (a fixed sign, as the astrology buffs will attest); what do I know?
"Believe" was, of course, a massive worldwide hit, and obviously Cher's producers were onto something with that sound and everybody and their dog began to flaunt the use of AutoTune on their tracks. Especially dance tracks, where it often comes off as a fun vocal sound effect. Flash forward 10 years, and performers at the top of the charts include T-Pain and Daft Punk, both of whom rely heavily on vocoded technologies to achieve their signature sounds. Were these artists to sing in their natural voices, it's unlikely we would know who they were (and we'd likely tune them right out.)
To this day, recordings that rely too heavily on AutoTune sound to my ear like Cylons from TV's Battlestar Galactica in the 1980s:
"Believe" is an easy target but it's the best one I know of to indicate a seismic shift in the usage of AutoTune in American pop music. AutoTune (and, no doubt, earlier recording technologies) had certainly been used to tweak vocal imperfections for decades, but the guiding rule seemed to be "do no harm" to the vocals in question. Use such tweaks sparingly and no one was likely to elicit that a given singer had been assisted in the studio.
Helping a vocalist stay on pitch electronically quickly becomes a slippery slope. I'd posit that the more electronics are used to "enhance" a given track, the more remote the end result for the listening ear, the less "human" the quality of the final experience. Think of listening to any number of New Wave bands from the 1980s: Eurythmics, New Order, O.M.D: great bands, all, but their music (even if not AutoTuned) is awash in electronica and part of the experience of their music is a smooth, chilly remoteness. Now think of Maria Callas--or Billie Holiday--two great, terrifically "imperfect" voices with cracks and crevices, voices that communicate great urgency and sorrow in a way those New Wave artists simply could not deliver.
Call me a purist, but I think if you're going to call yourself a great singer (or if the industry or your fans are going to celebrate you as such) then you should sing with the voice god gave you. And if you've built your career on the wonders of your vocals, you might want to do what's necessary to protect that voice, no? Lest your brand suffer irreparable harm? Which brings me back to Whitney.
The release of Whitney's new album, "I Look To You", coincided with a "live" television performance in Central Park, hosted by the smarmy sycophants at ABC's "Good Morning America" (paging Diane Sawyer; urp.) I put the "live" in quotes because unlike GMA's usual performance series which is actually broadcast live to East Coast viewers, while a performer is performing in real-time, ABC apparently agreed to Whitney's team's demands that the concert be pre-recorded on Tuesday afternoon for a Wednesday morning airing. This doesn't bode well. Aside from suggesting doubts that Whitney can actually still perform live, you can bet the audio for the Tuesday concert was being touched up within an inch of its life before airing on Wednesday.
I watched part of the Wednesday concert (for whatever reason, I can't look away from this train wreck) and I have to say: Whitney sucked. I admit that I find her personality kind of repellent: her addict's swagger (and deep denial) has been apparent since the skin-crawling "crack is wack" TV interview she granted (to Diane Sawyer, natch) in 2002.
As creepy as I find Whitney's imperious public persona, I should also point out that she's delivered the goods in live performance as recently as 2004, at the World Music Awards where she performed a 7-minute set of apparently live vocals, concluding in a pretty kick-ass rendition of her (tired) monster hit "I Will Always Love You" complete with impressive trills and riffs in true grand diva fashion.
For GMA, she opened with her new single, "Million Dollar Bill" but to say "she sang it" would be a stretch indeed, since she spent most of the time shouting "I love you too"s at the audience and letting her (far more) talented backup singers do not just the "heavy lifting" (i.e. hitting the high notes that Whitney only dreams of reaching ever again) but letting them do ALL THE SINGING! She didn't even pretend to know the lyrics or bother singing much outside the chorus. Instead, Whitney spent her time waving at the audience like she just woke up and noticed a bunch of friendly peasants outside cheering on her back lawn.
OK, the album: strictly MOR-radio approach (no surprise there) but the famous Whitney pipes are ravaged. "Reedy" is the first word that comes to mind, with a new smokiness in the quality of sound (think Gladys Knight). In my opinion, reedy is a quality Whitney could easily take to the bank, but to do it she'd need to be able to sell a song without relying on all the electronic assistance of the studio; as GMA proved, she's not able to do that. She's older, so of course it's perfectly natural that her range would fall somewhat lower, but it ultimately sounds restricted to a lower range, or more accurately: constricted. Even some of the biggest wet-kiss reviews have suggested that her voice is "more glottal" (I think that is supposed to be a nice way of saying we can hear Whitney's windpipe in action. That's for damn sure; at times it's hard not to worry that all systems are gonna shut down and she's gonna face-plant on the boards of the recording studio.)
She does stretch up occasionally, notably in the first single "I Look To You" but remember that Cylon-quality of AutoTuning? It's there in abundance, through all her transitions and certainly any truly sustained notes. The human voice just doesn't do perfection, despite generations of singers attempting it. If you're listening closely, you can hear Whitney's tones being run through that tight electronic funnel, holding a given note within the prescribed range and yet stripping that essential quality of "real". Sure, she must have gotten up there close to the notes she needed, but clearly not with either the strength or accuracy required for a listenable recording.
Are there exceptions? Maybe. The Cylon-essence falls below my ear's ability to identify it on a few moments of "I Didn't Know My Own Strength" (an entirely predictable Diane Warren-penned power ballad) although each time she rises up to grab a higher note or build to real vocal power, AutoTune returns to nudge Whitney where she needs to be pitch- and tone-wise. The raggedy, non-Cylon edges on this track are the most appealing part of the entire album--for those brief moments I can believe she cares enough to bother selling the song to us, but only for a second or two at a time.
The real AutoTune jackpot, though, comes via a pointless cover of Leon Russell's "A Song for You," one of the tackiest songs ever written. Everyone born before 1980 knows the song, and nearly everyone has sung it: Dusty Springfield, Petula Clark, The Carpenters, Aretha Franklin, The Temptations, Peggy Lee, Andy Williams, and (best ever) Cher. This is clearly Whitney's bid for the boys at the local gay discos (do any still exist?) and I've no doubt we'll be downloading umpteen pounding mixes within the month. Still, she might as well have sung it through a SIMON game, so laughably are her vocals vocoded into slick, electronic "perfection".
Most of the album bubbles along pleasantly enough for a dentist's office; it's certainly slickly produced. But it's throwaway stuff; completely generic. There have been far more distinguished albums from any number of R&B, pop, and soul singers in the past year, certainly dozens within the past 6 years Whitney's been away. And hold up: this is a woman who is delivering just the second album of six due on a $100 million recording contract!
And therein lies the rub for me. As with the degree of overcompensation paid to professional football players, I just can't buy in. (Yet I did buy in: I bought the album so I could review it! Who can spell S-U-C-K-A-H?!)
I get it: brand Whitney doesn't have to deliver quality--she just needs to deliver heat for the brand, and if she now does that better via tabloid headlines and farkakte performances or mediocre albums, so be it. There are gazillions of people in the world who want to get swept up in her saga and get off on forgiving her her perceived sins (or want to get swept up in the ratings the brand is sure to deliver; Oprah this means you, Miss Open-Your-Season with the first big Whitney interview.)
Yet none of that means Whitney remains either a compelling (or even adequate) singer. She's not. It's painful to listen to tracks from "I Look to You" and follow them by listening to tracks from Whitney's heyday: "Saving All My Love For You"? "I Have Nothing"? Homegirl had pipes for days (and they weren't yet crack pipes.) She wasn't pitch perfect on those early tunes, by the way, but she could sing the f**k out of the phone book. What a voice! It's the imperfections in those recordings that are so spectacularly fun to listen to, even the songs that are total pop tripe.
Maybe I'm just being ornery, but there are legions of singers who have performed decades longer than Whitney and taken care of their instruments (Keely Smith, Patti LaBelle), many who were stymied and abused by the music industry and somehow rose from the rubble (Jimmy Scott, Bettye LaVette), even those who crapped all over themselves but managed to make the best of the broken voice they were left with (Marianne Faithfull) and yes, some have had reasonable careers--though many more haven't--and every one of them is far more deserving of that $100 million.
I get it; I really do. Life isn't fair and it often sucks.
Yes, Virginia, Barbra was always that affected. This is a bit creepy, since she stares so intently at Burt that it seems she's either gonna f**k him or eat him, but there's no denying she is in Good Voice!
Does anyone remember that singers were once folks who could electrify crowds through the power and command of their actual voices? Well shut my face, some of them still can!
It may not be safe for work but this French anti-homophobia campaign made my day. Thanks to Lily Allen for allowing the French group, GayClic, to repurpose her track (originally recorded as a critique of George W. Bush) in this very concise and funny video for May 17's International Day Against Homophobia (who knew?)
I'm not terribly familiar with Ben Folds' work, though I have enjoyed a couple of tracks that his group, Ben Folds Five, has contributed to compilation albums over the years. Yesterday, Folds released a striking approach to his past work with BEN FOLDS PRESENTS: UNIVERSITY A CAPELLA! It's exactly what you would expect from the title: a bunch of university a capella choirs performing his music. While I haven't finished listening to the entire thing, there is already one performance that has literally rocked my world--The Sacramento State Jazz Singers performing "Selfless, Cold, and Composed." It's a brilliant choral performance, and happily you can catch it on YouTube here:
Perhaps it's not for everyone--I'm admittedly a huge fan of choral music and have always been entranced by the power of harmonizing voices writ large--but I can't imagine failing to recognize how kickass this rendition is, between the insistent sung percussion lines and thick, gorgeous unison chords backing really lovely featured vocals. Simply astounding!
Recently I had the pleasure of seeing the off-Broadway show "Everyday Rapture". The show features star Sherie Rene Scott covering an eclectic selection of songs that were important to her as she was growing up. I was dumbstruck by some of the pieces she chose to sing because they were such touchstones of my own childhood and adolescence, including Harry Nilsson's "Life Line" (from the animated movie "The Point") and Tom Waits' "Rainbow Sleeves", one of my favorite heart-breakers.
Most astonishingly, Sherie performed a mini-set of songs from "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" and identified Fred Rogers as a seminal figure in her life, teaching her self-love and self-confidence (traits that were frowned upon within the spartan Mennonite community of her youth.) Upon returning home from the show, I jumped online to see if I could find any recordings of Fred Rogers' music, and that's how I stumbled across last year's release of MISTER ROGERS SWINGS!
Vocalist Holly Yarbrough is the star of this appealing piece of brilliance, featuring jazz arrangements of 16 of Roger's television tunes. Yarbrough is terrific, delivering cheerful (never saccharine) interpretations of the Rogers' oeuvre with the assistance of a small combo (they are equally wonderful). I suspect you won't believe me when I say that they pull off these performances without a trace of kitsch, but they manage it somehow. You'd expect "a kid's album" but it's really not that at all; it's sophisticated, heartfelt jazz. It's also proof of Rogers's own talents as a composer in his own right (he received his BA in music composition).
There's not a bad track on the album. In fact, the best songs are those where things could most easily have veered into irony, with a wink and a nod. Instead, Yarbrough wrings real passion out of "Then Your Heart Is Full of Love" and brings a clever simmer to "I Like To Be Told". Appealing voice, ingenious arrangements, brilliant concept (someone should win a Grammy just for having the idea); I can't recommend it enough.
James Purdy has died. To most average readers I suspect this news is met with a shrugged "who dat?" Allow me to say we just lost a good one--far and away my favorite novelist. His works aren't for the squeamish, drenched as they are in turgid obsession, Southern Gothic imagery, a hefty dose of melodrama and--above all--sex, sex, sex (usually repressed, but not always). In Purdy's worlds golden birds nest in the bellies of human hosts, huts in secluded groves hide orgies upon piles of fresh-baked pies, and tortured souls degrade themselves in carnal quests for youth, beauty, innocence--and even love. Purdy was truly sui generis; I can't think of another writer who so boldly plunged into the messiest human impulses. Tennessee Williams' damaged protagonists, particularly Streetcar's Blanche, were surely distant cousins of the inhabitants of Purdy's books, but where Williams let our imagination fill in the blanks of Miss DuBois' shady past, Purdy would have let it rip and told us everything in decadent paragraphs of his trademark florid prose. It's gorgeous and frustrating writing, a very peculiar alchemy of bodice ripper meets Gordon Merrick meets Flannery O'Connor. And I am very sad today. Viva Purdy!
Melinda Doolittle placed 3rd during the 2007 season of the television juggernaut, American Idol (season 6). A former professional back up singer, Doolittle routinely impressed A.I. judges and viewing audiences with her soulful voice which rang out again and again in stark contrast to her meek stage persona. Though I'm not a diehard Idol-watcher, I'd have to admit that after catching Doolittle once, I did bother to tune in again to see how she'd do. It was hard not to root for her, because Doolittle was such a surprising pro in a field of rank amateurs.
Like all contestants on American Idol, Doolittle was required to prove herself by singing a smorgasbord of songs with assurance including "My Funny Valentine" (Rodgers & Hart), "Sweet Sweet Baby" (Aretha Franklin), "I'm A Woman" (Lieber & Stoller), even "Have A Nice Day" (Bon Jovi). Doolittle was one of the few who actually managed to pull off this schizophrenic performing seal act with her head held high, but her week-after-week success also served to make her harder to define as a performer.
This week, Doolittle finally released her long-awaited first solo album, Coming Back to You. She seems to have chosen a "retro-soul" approach, and the album sounds like one you'd have expected from Melba Moore or Gladys Knight in the mid-1970s. The album--like the singer--is pleasant listening, but that's both a blessing and a curse.
Highlights--to my ear--include "The Best of Everything" in which Doolittle's muscular voice gets an ever-building workout, and "Wonderful" which grooves along sweetly with irresistible girl-group backing vocals. "I'll Never Stop Loving You" is an enjoyable detour into the Doris Day songbook, with a lush string orchestra backing Doolittle's entirely convincing delivery of an old-school ballad.
I'd sum up the album's shortcomings with two words: "Adult Contemporary." The musical arrangements are occasionally so generic they flirt with Muzak territory. Wrong-headed production choices short-circuit some other moments: the toe-tapping "Dust My Broom" sounds like it's building into a real barn-burner until it inexplicably fades out fast. Likewise the album's final track, the ballad "Wonder Why," closes things out with a mellow vibe but the final note is cut so short I couldn't help wondering if they had to unplug the keyboard to get out of the studio on time.
What I'd wish for Doolittle next time around is more of what she brought to her best moment on American Idol. Singing one of Bon Jovi's latter-day rock anthems, "Have A Nice Day," Doolittle stepped well beyond her comfort zone and hit the song out of the park:
Clearly, Doolittle is capable of moving beyond her musical safety zone, but I think she needs a producer who's up to the task of leading her there. Next album, I'm crossing my fingers for Jack White (Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose) or Rick Rubin (Johnny Cash's late-career albums) to step up and take Doolittle to the promised land!
M.J. Williams is a sublime vocalist. She is also a Montana native and a jazz trombonist (of all things). Her solo album, I CAN HEAR YOUR HEART (1999) has been a favorite of mine for many years. Two subsequent albums, each featuring a talented jazz trio (shifting configurations of bass, piano, guitar, and drums) have become equal aural pleasures.
Williams, like another of my favorite vocalists, Jimmy Scott, favors holding long extensions of notes that emphasize the effect of the voice as a member of an instrumental ensemble of equals (as opposed to a lead vocal being supported or "backed" by the instruments.) These extensions cast such a languid spell that you can forget you are listening to a song with words. Williams delivers the lyrics beautifully, but the end result (to my ears at least) is one of enjoying a tapestry of sound more than focusing on the words of the song.
Most of these tracks are jazz interpretations of real classics like My Foolish Heart, The Nearness of You, or Rodgers & Hart's Lover. Also featured are songs composed by Thelonius Monk, Antônio Carlos Jobim, and Pat Metheny, as well as Williams' bass player, Kelly Roberti. Throughout these albums Williams voice is gorgeous--with a solid, mellow center not unlike the timbre of Dianne Reeves' voice.
To my knowledge none of M.J.'s work has had anything like a major-label release, and a quick search reveals nothing via amazon or iTunes. It does look like you can get some of Williams' albums (as well as listen to mp3 samples) at this link:
No, it's not a song, but it should be with lyrics like these:
We are wine bottles I'm at work! Rain storm! Magic! I want pie! I want beef jerky! I am a secret agent We are in Hawaii Double head! I'm a magician I'm a rabbit I'm her mom No she's not We are eating pepper and chips Wrestling! Hungry! Bow wow chicka bow wow chicka bow wow Yuck I am weird Cuckoo cuckoo I have to go potty (move down to his feet) pssssssssss I'm bored aren't you? I am too.
I'd be the first to admit that I'm a pop guy, not so much a rock guy. I do love Heart, and a lot of Bowie, and some Hole plus a smattering of other stuff, none of which could remotely be identified as "hard rock". So it is, I suspect, with Benjy Ferree--but I gotta say, I am really liking this album. Think Chris Isaak meets the Futureheads by way of Stray Cats. It's kind of punky, rockabilly with occasional shades of anthemic Queen-style choruses. My ears haven't parsed through much of the lyrics yet (this is first impressions, after all) but I REALLY LIKE IT. Check it out:
I never loved nobody fully Always one foot on the ground And by protecting my heart truly I got lost in the sounds I hear in my mind All these voices I hear in my mind all these words I hear in my mind all this music
And it breaks my heart And it breaks my heart And it breaks my heart It breaks my heart
And suppose I never met you Suppose we never fell in love Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft Suppose I never ever saw you Suppose we never ever called Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall Just to break my fall Just to break my fall Break my fall Break my fall
All my friends say that of course its gonna get better Gonna get better Better better better better Better better better
I never love nobody fully Always one foot on the ground And by protecting my heart truly I got lost In the sounds I hear in my mind All these voices I hear in my mind all these words I hear in my mind All this music And it breaks my heart It breaks my heart Breaks my Heart Breaks my heart
When I was a child, my father would often pound out Aram Khachaturian's "Sabre Dance" on the piano and I would dance frantically around the living room to the insane beat. It seems a likely bet that my father was familiar with Ed Sullivan's using the song during featured side show acts (like plate spinners). I so loved this dancing game that I must have seemed a real side show ham myself (some would say nothing's changed.) As I danced, I suspect I was angling for something like this:
Strangely, it was only this morning that I was struck by the reason I am such a fan of Danny Elfman's score to the Pee-Wee Herman movies: one of the primary themes in Pee Wee's films is an obvious homage to "Sabre Dance"; happily, it's a suitable homage without being an outright ripoff of the Armenian composer. I adore Pee-Wee on many levels and he obviously speaks to the child in me apart from the music, but Elfman nailed that childlike stance when he composed "The Breakfast Machine" for Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. It's like Khachaturian on steroids, with a full orchestra stomping around the house until finally it whirls you, exhausted, into a corner.
Every once in a while I have one of those pop culture moments: how in hell did I live without knowing about _____?? Well this evening, thanks to Ava, I'm having one of those moments and you can fill in the blank with THE THREE DEGREES. Eat your heart out Diana Ross...these gals are jaw-dropping!
I know this video moves me so deeply because it echoes my own heartfelt dreams, but if I can remove myself from astonishment at the imagery, or the sense that Alber's lyrics speak as if from my own heart...well, I think this is quite simply a gorgeous song:
It's been inescapable--the last 36 hours we've been subject to endless TV and internet replay of the Obamas' first dance as First Couple, and that means the first sung lines of Beyoncé's cover of "At Last" is stuck in our collective pop culture brain like a skipped record. Beyoncé makes a fair attempt at recreating the iconic magic of Etta James (whom Beyoncé played recently in the movie Cadillac Records) but need I point out that Beyoncé is no Etta James?
Etta James' "At Last" (1961) is certainly well-known and rightly so; it's a gorgeous recording. Opening with a lovely sweep of strings and a pulsing piano driving the song forward, James' strong, ragged-around-the-edges vocal is the real pleasure.
The song is a great vocal showcase, dropping low and soaring high to deliver the expectant surprise of the lyric. I suppose that's what draws vocalists to "At Last" in the first place, but as I started to muse over other covers of the song, I was quickly reminded that all covers are not created equal!
One of my favorite recordings of "At Last" is the GLENN MILLER ORCHESTRA (1942) with RAY EBERLE performing the vocal. As you would expect from a Miller tune, this is smooth stuff with a strong horn section backing Eberle's rich Crosby-like croon. It makes you want to slow dance with a tall, handsome somebody you met during the War. Recommended.
LOU RAWLS named an entire album after the song (1989) and recorded "At Last" as a duet with the deeply fabulous DIANNE REEVES. The arrangement is, unfortunately, very 1980s with a synth-driven beat (is that a drum machine?!) I'd think the song would be a great fit for Rawls, but his vocal is pedestrian at best, while Reeves has some moments where she threatens to steal the number and perform it to best effect. Ultimately, it's not her showcase. A Missed Opportunity.
Oh, JIMMY SCOTT. Gorgeous. His "At Last" (1992) is, in my opinion, the best of this lot. It may be heresy to opine that Scott's vocal is better than Etta James', but I find it more moving. Scott's musical arrangement, however, isn't nearly as appealing. Scott sings with unusual vocal cadences that force your ear to hear most everything he sings anew, even if (as is typical) he is covering songs you have heard several hundred times before. He seems to feel his songs very deeply, so the sense of revelation in Scott's "At Last"--the joy of finding that unexpected love--is very palpable. While this arrangement relies heavily on a string orchestra, it doesn't have the charm of the instrumentation that charges Etta's version. Nonetheless, Jimmy Scott's cover is a worthy successor. Highly Recommended.
A former co-worker from my Time Inc. days, MARIA POSTELL recorded a swinging cover of "At Last" on her album "At This Moment" (1998). Postell delivers the lyrics with flair and displays a vibrant chemistry with the small jazz combo backing her. It's a solid version that keeps you paying attention to the lyric. Enjoyable.
As her career was taking off in 2000, CHRISTINA AGUILERA's ABC-TV special (now a DVD) included "At Last" as a sort of insider's look at backstage hijinks, performing the song for friends and crew
Aguilera had grown up loving the song, and she's not bad--she's a little girl with a big voice she hasn't yet grown into, and she's definitely showing off. Surprisingly, it mostly works. It's an interesting outtake, and you can see shades of the dirrty tranny clown she was to become later, but basically she pulls it off. An Interesting Novelty.
While similar in orchestrated approach to Scott's version, JONI MITCHELL's cloying "At Last" (2000) is smothered by ghastly cinematic strings. This isn't surprising inasmuch as Mitchell has been given to fully orchestrated versions of her work in recent years. It's also not a surprising choice for Mitchell to record. In her own songwriting she has often paid tribute through lyric or musical reference to R&B tunes and jukebox hits from her youth. What is surprising is how awful this cover is: even with Mitchell in appealing voice, it's so forcibly "pretty" it's like pouring syrup into your eardrums and drowning as it drains into your sinuses. Saccharine.
In a bare-bones "At Last" (piano and very spare strings) CYNDI LAUPER (2003) seems to be deconstructing the song but it resolutely doesn't work. It's too bad, because Lauper--like so many of the folks in this post--has a strikingly powerful voice. This recording, however, adds up to nothing except some strikingly ugly notes held too long. It's also strange that Lauper sounds so unhappy while singing here; it's completely at odds with the lyric. Puzzling.
CELINE DION performed the song in her long-running Vegas show A New Day (2004). Badly. No diction, no emotion, no apparent understanding of the lyric; Dion seems to be performing it phonetically. This "At Last" opens with what sounds like a Kenny G electronic oboe over a karaoke bar orchestration. The usual grotesque melisma. Nothing to see here; move along. Worst of the lot.
Thank you, Lord, for those increasingly rare occasions when PHOEBE SNOW records: her live version (1991) is theatric camp but it must have been riveting for the lucky audience. Snow boldly uses "At Last" in a manner many of these other vocalists have just hinted at: she hijacks it as a showcase for her magnificent voice. There are not many voices as powerful as Snow's and here she squeals, shouts, wails, and wrestles the song into complete submission. It's an ecstatic delivery; triumphal and surprised and sexy. It culminates in a crazy bit of vocalizing that is pure Phoebe and concludes with one clarion note that must have brought them to their feet. Silly but Quite Wonderful.
ARETHA FRANKLIN (she of the Inaugural Bonnet!) recorded the song, but it was cut from her 1974 album "Let Me In Your Life". God knows why, because it's a great cover with all the wonder of Aretha's voice in her prime. An orchestrated slow-funk groove allows Aretha to swoop and sail soulfully around the proceedings. It's a classic and gorgeous "At Last"; ample evidence of why Aretha is regarded as highly as she is. Highly Recommended.
Voices heard in fields of green Their joy their calm and luxury Are lost within the wanderings of my mind
One of the most extraordinary songs from one the best-produced albums I know, David Sylvian's "Nostalgia" from his album Brilliant Trees (1984) hooked me the moment I heard it nearly 25 years ago. From the opening strains of a wordless (Hindi? Hebrew?) vocal/chant, "Nostalgia" is deeply steeped in the album's lush musical layers of East-meets-West influence and Sylvian's own metaphoric lyrics.
I'm cutting branches from the trees Shaped by years of memories To exorcise their ghosts from inside of me
There are long, gorgeous instrumental passages within "Nostalgia". Sylvian's collaborators suggest Eastern musical influences electronically here, while Kenny Wheeler's jazz-like flugelhorn drifts in and around the proceedings. Co-produced with Steve Nye (Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Bryan Ferry, Frank Zappa) Brilliant Trees was Sylvian's first solo foray after leaving his reasonably successful rock/punk band, JAPAN. "Nostalgia" remains my favorite track on Brilliant Trees, and it heralds the complex beauty that Sylvian has built in subsequent recordings.
The sound of waves in a pool of water I'm drowning in my nostalgia
There are plenty of reasons that some of the greatest music arrangers and conductors (like Billy May & Nelson Riddle) chose to work with Keely Smith at Capitol Records in the late 1950s. Reasons being the lady could sing, the lady could swing, the lady could deliver a gorgeous song and make your heart soar with a voice to rival any of the leading female vocalists of the day. Keely's voice was bright and strong, with nearly perfect pitch and an occasional Virginia drawl. Keely is still best remembered for her marriage to Louis Prima and the duets that featured in their legendary stage shows ("That Old Black Magic," et al.) Yet it's her solo Capitol recordings, Politely! and Swingin' Pretty, that caught my ear in a friend's basement where we amused ourselves by pulling out her mother's favorite old LPs. I knew nothing about Keely then, and assumed she was relegated to the heap of singers past who'd stopped performing around the time I was born. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Keely did vanish for a couple of decades; she stopped recording & performing while she focused on raising her kids. In 1985 she recorded a comeback album, I'm In Love Again and bagged a Grammy nomination in the process. Hearing that album, I fell in love with Keely's voice all over again. In the early 90s I first saw her perform live at Rainbow & Stars, a supper club at the top of Rockefeller Center. She was marvelous; a consummate performer with a surprising shtick to her stage patter, alternating gorgeous singing with deadpan jokes about Sicilian lovers and pasta. A few years later, in a bit of true serendipity, I got to see Keely perform in Las Vegas at the Sands, assisted by her bandleader of the 1950s, Sam Butera. It was like being transported back in time 40 years--and one of the best live shows I've ever witnessed.
What makes my experience of Keely so much richer is that she's kept on recording and performing--well into her seventies. Shockingly, her clarion voice has mellowed very little and though her vibrato has widened just a bit, the near-perfect pitch and sweet high range are practically carbon copies of the sound on her Capitol recordings. Keely's voice is truly one of the rare miracles of showbiz (and a good deal of care, I'm sure; Keely swears she never smoked or drank.)
As recently as 2007, Keely was playing two shows a night at New York's swanky Cafe Carlyle. I caught that show with Wanda & Steve--almost 15 years after we'd see Keely with Sam Butera in Vegas. Her stage presence was much the same: surprisingly raunchy patter (from a grandmother!) between sets of sweet, soulful singing. It still surprises me how relatively unsung the glory of Keely's solo work has been--she is, without a doubt, one of the Greats.
Perusing a supermarket tabloid today I was reminded that 10 years ago this month Britney Spears' first album was released. As I write this, I'm again listening to ...BABY ONE MORE TIME (yes, from start to finish.) Reluctantly, I have to say this: much as I wanted to hate this album when it came out in 1999 (and again tonight), it's just not that hateable. The album is well-produced and I'm forced to admit there was a brief moment in time when Britney Spears' vocals actually approached something akin to singing--key word "approached" since it's all vo-coded and processed like the Velveeta cheese her music has always been.
Musically, ...BABY ONE MORE TIME is completely corporate feel-good, sanitized-for-your-protection, hooky bubbly pop. It's a weird combo of understandably top-40 hits with pure camp bullshit like "E-Mail My Heart" (what a groaner) and the final track on which Britney, inexplicably, covers Sonny & Cher's "The Beat Goes On."
I still think the album cover is extraordinarily vulgar pop kiddie porn, with a beaming, slightly cross-eyed Britney on her knees, too-short skirt hitched up to here and the none-too-subtle shadowy opening between her thighs inviting every pervy uncle to feel good about ogling her no-no parts. I still think Britney's mother should have been locked up for pimping her underage daughter(s)--look at the fate of poor Jamie-Lynn! And I still question if there's ever been any "there" to Britney Spears beyond the packaging and marketing and generic video whoring (OK, arguably she was once a quite good dancer.)
I couldn't recommend this album to save my life since, as I mentioned, this is manufactured corporate poison. Nonetheless, I can admit that my pal Abi and I still swap dance mixes of more recent vintage Britney tracks. Clearly I am not entirely immune to the charms of Ms. Spears.
For the moment, I'll just tip my hat to the batshit crazy, ratty weave, half-dressed maniac who gave up her kids for another ride on the short bus to fame.
You are too much for me, Britney; I wish I knew how to quit you.
She's not lyrically as specific a songwriter as her fellow Canadian Joni Mitchell, but Kathryn Dawn Lang has an amazing gift for metaphor and melody and those traits are on rich display in ALL YOU CAN EAT, probably my favorite of all k.d.'s albums. It is in some ways a sort of INGENUE TWO but I personally find it prettier and more open than that monster smash predecessor. Which makes sense: she'd come out, her best charting album was behind her, maybe the pressure was off. It's a laid back, sensuous, groovy album that snakes its way into your head. The layered harmonies (all k.d.; no other vocalists) are thick honey behind the lead vocal, That Gorgeous Voice. One of a kind she is. In a word: wow.
I just realized I missed her birthday by two days but Happy Birthday to a lady who was singing in our house a lot when I was growing up (my mother liked her albums.) In honor of Joan's big day, I'm listening to her 2004 album BOWERY SONGS. It's a live album from a performance at the Bowery Ballroom in New York. It feels a fitting tribute since she's a Staten Island girl (who knew?) She's in exceptional voice on these recordings and I highly recommend them. It's the only Baez I own, actually, but I'm glad I have it; where else am I gonna find songs about deportees for that border mix CD?
Jimmy Scott possesses one of those voices that does me in--in a good way. His growth and vocal development were stunted by an affliction known as Kallmann Syndrome (delayed puberty) leaving him with a unique, gender-neutral singing voice. The first time I heard his high, reedy voice on CD in the mid-90s, I wanted to know the name of the woman behind such a mesmerizing sound! It took me a long time to reconcile the voice to the man. FALLING IN LOVE IS WONDERFUL was meant to be Jimmy Scott's big breakthrough in 1962, after many years of having his vocals incorrectly attributed to female singers, or uncredited altogether on the recordings of Lionel Hampton and other swing bands. The album was produced by Ray Charles on Charles' own Tangerine label, and the arrangements are lovely, reminiscent of classic Nelson Riddle-style orchestrations that flatter both the songs and the singer. Upon the album's release, however, an unscrupulous former manager insisted that Scott was still under contract to a competing label (Savoy) and Tangerine had to cease and desist release of the new album. Scott attempted to record again in 1969 (the equally marvelous THE SOURCE) but again Savoy claimed ownership, so Jimmy Scott recordings were effectively embargoed for decades and his career collapsed. He worked as a hospital orderly and elevator operator for years. The good news is that there has been a prolific second act to Scott's life & career. He was "re-discovered" and managed to get honest deals with legitimate studios in the early 1990s, and he has recorded an eclectic smorgasbord of songs: everything from "Over the Rainbow" to "Nothing Compares 2 U." His thwarted 1960s albums were finally re-released to great acclaim--with good reason, as FALLING IN LOVE IS WONDERFUL proves. As one would expect, though, his voice had aged into a somewhat different instrument over the course of those 20+ years. The tone remained much the same: clarion, throbbing, insistent--but with each successive Scott release since 1992 (there have been MANY; it's hard not to sense him racing to catch up for the lost time) the voice grows frailer, the warble wider. Those affectations don't hurt my love for the songs or the man singing them, but they certainly shade the experience of hearing him sing. When I finally managed to hear him perform live at Lincoln Center last winter, I realized with regret that I had waited too late. As pleasurable as it was to show the man respect with applause, his performance with a young jazz combo was reduced to nearly unintelligible wailing, with not much strength or tone remaining. FALLING IN LOVE...then, is really the best chance to listen and wonder "what could have been." Scott is in fantastic voice here, and it's amazing to hear what the singer Nancy Wilson heard, and indeed mimicked in her own recordings. To listen to Jimmy Scott's inspired broken-syllable phrasings is to hear the blueprint for Wilson's inimitable style. FALLING IN LOVE IS WONDERFUL is an album that is as good an introduction to Jimmy Scott as you are likely to find (though I'd be happy to recommend many others). If you don't know him already, suffice to say you should acquaint yourself.
Simple is often better, and my Exhibit No. 1 of the moment is the simply gorgeous recording DINAH SINGS, PREVIN PLAYS (1960). Dinah is, of course, Dinah Shore of the "see the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet" jingles and her long-running talk shows of the 60s and 70s. The Previn accompanying her is Andre Previn of the long conducting career (gossip-hounds know that he was Mia Farrow's second husband.) The album material is strictly standards, many of them quite familiar from far more famous recordings, but there are a couple of lesser-known gems here, too, in particular "Like Someone In Love" and "Stars Fell On Alabama". There is an irresistible charm to Dinah's laid-back presentation and very slight Southern drawl (she was born and raised in Tennessee.) The album is intensely intimate, as though it were just you sitting in a darkened club, listening to a late-night set with Shore and Previn (with an occasional small combo backing them quietly.) Previn is a master accompanist and it's through his gorgeous playing and arrangements that the ear is directed to Shore's honeyed vocals (he worked with Doris Day to similar success on their DUET album in 1962). There's no fireworks here, no gimmicks, but that doesn't mean it's staid or boring--it's all really gorgeous. Highly Recommended.
